


Someone to Watch Over Me

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GF for Ep.201</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> Orig. posted on my LJ 2012

                                                                                     

“Fuck!” Brian’s muttered curse echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. Grim-faced and unmoving, he stared through the window with a sick fascination that had him questioning his own sanity. With its impressive array of medical instruments and hi-tech monitoring devices, the enclosed area resembled a futuristic lab in a science fiction movie. Whirring and humming, the blinking lights and audible sounds were gruesome reminders that a life perilously hung in the balance.  
  
“Fuck!” he said again in a broken whisper. His usual nonchalance and unflappable poise seemed to have deserted him. The bastions of his emotional terra firma had caved beneath his feet without warning, leaving him to scrabble for purchase and face the incomprehensible alone. He took several deep breaths to slow his racing heart, but the cage of his ribs was so tight it wouldn’t allow even a sliver of calm to penetrate.  
  
He couldn’t stop hearing the crack of the bat, couldn’t stop seeing the pool of blood staining the concrete. More than once he had to admit defeat and sink into the pre-requisite uncomfortable chair while the room righted itself, rather than suffer the ignominy of passing out on the floor. Transfixed by the scene, he either didn’t notice or simply ignored the panicky urge to flee. Instead, he stood guard. Muscles stiff with tension, he kept a watchful eye on the hypnotic beeps of the heart monitor and the nauseating suction of the oxygen machine. Because looking away would be too tempting an invitation to fate.  
  
A nurse brushed by him as if he were invisible. Her face grave, she checked Justin’s vitals and recorded the results on the chart attached to his bed. Regardless of the time, the ICU was a hive of activity. Events unfolded as they happened. There was no pre-written script. Doctors and nurses, patients and families were all players in constant changing tableaux of life. And none knew the outcome.  
  
 _“All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.”_ _©Shakespeare_  
  
At the slightest hiccup in sound, those entrusted with Justin’s care scurried like mice to the cubicle, sending icy shards of terror down his spine. Their whispered chatters and sidelong glances grated on his nerves. He hated it. He hated the agony of waiting. But he loathed his own helplessness even more. These aversions didn’t exactly endear him to the overnight shift and often resulted in stern reprimands about conduct and decorum.  
  
Not that it mattered. In fact, it worked in his favor by minimizing sympathetic looks and kind words that would have shattered him in a million pieces. And not that he cared. He didn’t care about anything or anyone other than the epicenter of this incessant commotion—the blond, blue-eyed young man who lay unmoving on the bed, barely clinging to life. With repercussions yet to be determined, that he was still alive was either a miracle or luck.  
  
He didn’t believe in miracles, nor did he believe in luck. If he had any philosophy at all about life it was that shit happens. Bad shit, good shit, it didn’t matter. You lived. You died. Everything in between was random. He dealt in black and white. Shades of gray were for idealists and fanatics, for zealots and dreamers. He was none of those.  
  
But this? This had him praying to a deity he didn’t believe in. Because the alternative was too terrible, too unthinkable. And he could not, would not accept it. Not now. Not ever.  
  
 _“So dear I love him that with him, all deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life.”_ _©J.Milton_


End file.
